Russians Love Their Children Too
by Raincatcher13
Summary: [Where did I see this title, again?] England only saw Russia show kindness once. Oneshot. Bad summary.


A/N- Alright, I need to quit writing this sappy crap. I'm sorry I added in an OC- I just, I had to. It's my friend's birthday (well, I sort of missed it) and she's Russian, so this is for her! I also liked the thought of showing Russia's kinder side. Well, that's about it. Till next time!~

* * *

I only saw him show mercy once. Once, and it was brief and fast, but it was real. Perhaps the reason why he did what he did was because it was his own citizen.

How many times have I heard someone say Russia is cold, unloving, unforgiving? He'd rather let his own people starve, he'd rather kill them off, than lose the war.

But in my opinion, he isn't totally like that. He is definitely not the kindest nation I know, not the most generous, but it is not expected of him. He is just fine the way he is.

It was that little girl he showed sympathy for.

I don't know much about the situation. I was there with Russia when it happened, but I don't know much other than what I saw, and I was too scared to ask what exactly the circumstances were.

"England," he had said, snow swirling around us in flurries, "why is it that everyone is so scared of me?"

"I don't know," I replied. "You're not bad, Russia. Just let the other countries give you another chance, okay?" I remember how during some previous wars, I'd had it up to here with the old Commie, but time heals wounds, and we've grown the tiniest bit closer.

"Da," he said. His purple eyes were bright and curious. It was years after World War Two, so by that time he had mostly recovered.

It was then we heard a wail.

"What was that?" I asked, blinking snow out of my eyes. All that bloody snow! I couldn't see a thing, but Russia did.

A little silhouette came bounding into view, wearing a black peacoat that pooled to her knees, a light blue scarf wrapped hastily around her neck. She had on fuzzy boots that looked too big. She couldn't have been older than five or six, but she looked terrified.

"Mister, please help me," she pleaded, grabbing my coat. I bent down. "What's wrong, little girl?"

"They're coming after me," she whispered.

I turned to Russia. "Ivan? Don't do anything, okay? It's just a little girl." I made sure to use his human name in front of the girl. _And she's a citizen of yours, _I wanted to add. Looking back, I'm glad I didn't.

"What's your name, little one?" Russia asked.

"Krystena," she said. "I'm Krystena. Please help me!"

"What are we going to do? Who's after you?" I wondered.

Russia shrugged, starting to walk again. "Come on, Arthur. She's probably just playing some game with a couple of friends."

"Nyet! Nyet! Please, please, _please," _Krystena screamed. Her cries were heartbreaking. "I don't want to go back to the orphanage!"

Russia stopped dead. "Ivan, she's"- I began, but Russia cut me off. He picked up the little girl in his arms.

"Come on, Arthur. Let's go."

"You're taking her with you?" I asked in disbelief. I thought he would leave her.

"Da," he said. "Of course I am. Come, Krystena. You are safe now. Let's go."

"Wait, Ivan," I mumbled, walking beside him. "Are you taking her home with you? Is that a good idea?"

"I can do whatever I want," he replied, patting Krystena's head. "I will raise her as I raised Natalia."

"She won't be a country"-

"I _know." _Russia shook his head. "It's okay. She'll mature. And she'll move away."

I sniffled. "Alright. Let's go back to your house."

"Mister, where are we going?" Krystena piped up. She had wavy brown hair, and she slightly reminded me of Hungary.

"To my house," Russia said. "You can sit by the fire, drink some"-

I coughed.

"-hot chocolate," Russia muttered, "and Mr. Arthur here will read you a story."

"Sure." He knew I liked kids, I think.

"Mr. Arthur! Wow! That's a cool name," Krystena said.

"Mmhmm. Mr. Arthur's from _England." _It was weird seeing Russia acting so gentle, almost like he was father or big brother of this little girl. Well, he basically was.

"England," Krystena said. "My mommy has- had- a map on her old office wall. England is right by France, isn't it?" She was smart for her age. She was also really observant, I guess.

"What happened to your parents?" Russia asked.

Krystena's face became guarded. "My papa died in a car crash... and mom... didn't want me anymore."

I felt my heart break.

"How old are you, Krystena?"

"I'm six and a half!"

Russia and I chuckled at that. She looked up at Russia. "What's your name?"

He smiled. "You can call me Ivan, da?"

"Mr. Ivan!" Krystena said. "Can I live with you just for today? Or forever?"

He smiled. "As long as you want, Krystena."

When we got back to Russia's house, the Baltics were there.

"O-oh! What a precious child," Lithuania said. "Little girl, I'm Toris."

"Yes, s-she is adorable," Latvia piped up. He had been reading on of his romance novels, but stood up when Russia, Krystena and I walked in. "Is she yours?"

"Latvia!" Estonia hissed in warning, knowing that the younger Baltic's mindless comments usually threw them all in the path of Russian destruction.

"No," Russia said. "She did not want to go to the orphanage."

"That's understandable," Estonia said. "I'm Eduard."

"Mr. Eduard!" giggled Krystena. "Four-eyes!"

"W-wha?" Eduard blushed scarlet, adjusting his glasses.

"Um, what's your name?" Lithuania said.

"Krystena!"

"Want some hot chocolate?" Latvia said.

"Yes please, Mr..."

"Raivis."

"Yes please, Mr. Raivis!" Krystena said. Her voice was high and excited. The prospect of melted, drinkable chocolate makes any kid happy, though. Especially in a place where it's cold enough to freeze hell over.

Raivis disappeared into the kitchen.

"Mr. Ivan, what's that?" Krystena had walked over to the other wall of Russia's lounge and was pointing at the huge World Map.

"That's the world, Little One," he said. "Do you know where we are?"

"Russia." She reached up, pointing a little hand at Eastern Europe."

"Da. We are."

Latvia appeared from the kitchen, a pitcher of hot chocolate and three cups on a tray. "M-Mr. Ivan, um, dinner... dinner will be ready soon..."

"Oh. Why don't you get Krystena settled in her room." It wasn't a suggestion. "Arthur, could you help Raivis? Use the guest bedroom next to Katyusha's."

"Of course." Raivis nodded and grabbed Krystena's hand. "This way."

"Room?" she asked in wonder. "A whole room?"

I smiled. "That's what a room is."

"But... for myself?"

Latvia nodded, amusement on his face. "Yes, Krystena. With a bed and a desk and a big window with red velvet drapes with a perfect view of the city." I've never heard Latvia say so much without stuttering, but then he sounded confident and positive, like making a little girl happy was the most important thing he could do.

Maybe it was.

He opened the door. The room was dark, a single lamp on the beside next to the huge bed, but all of the rooms in Russia's house are dark. Most of the light was coming from the window- snow swirled in the sunset, snow on fire, and a view of the city stretched out in front of us.

"Wooow!" Krystena screamed in delight, throwing herself at the window. Russia's windows curve out so you can sit on the windowsill, and that's what Krystena did, enchanted by the snow and the sky.

I heard Estonia's call. "Dinner's ready!"

* * *

In the sixteen years that followed, I only saw Krystena again once- I went over to Russia's house for a business meeting.

"Hey, Krystena! It's Arthur. Do you remember him?" Russia had said.

"Oh?" Krystena was thirteen then, her brown hair braided neatly. Her eyes lit up. "Mr. Arthur!" She giggled at the silly name. I made her tea, and she pretended to like it. Of course Russia was sympathetic and let her wash down my disgusting tea with vodka. A thirteen year old!

But that is Ivan Braginsky's way.

I'm not sure what happened to her. Russia has never once mentioned her, and I guess it's an okay bet to say she grew up, maybe got married and had some kids. I don't know if she still lives in Russia anymore, or if she's even alive. I don't know if Russia told her he was a country, if he talked at all about the complicated life he had. I'm sure she wondered, at the very least, why he wasn't getting any older.

All I know is that on that snowy day, Russia showed kindness.

It wasn't to me, but that's not the point. Everyone else thinks he's this awful demon, his heart frozen by the lands he lives in, but that's not so. I know he's not a bundle of love and sunflowers, but his heart isn't frozen- it still beats, it still skips when he's happy and slows when he's sad.

Sometimes, just sometimes, he lives and he loves.

Maybe the horrible Russian isn't so bad.

Maybe he really does love his children, too.


End file.
